A poem a day is the poet way!

2010, Poem 6.

in which we all boarded the spaceship,
by which I mean, of course, “airplane,”
hunkered down with our new books and took off,
unanimously, as if we had taken a vote
about where to go and it turned out
Salt Lake City was the place: we each wanted

our own hardwood floors, each our own cupboards
with our own cereal, our own beds in which to slumber:
so fare thee well, Denver, so long

to the specific pigments of your bricks
streets and walls, adieu to conversations
in which we got a little militant about form
or voice or whatever is the new: yippie ki yay
to the bottles, flutes, and glasses which held our
—for this hour—unpessimistic libations:

that hotel is, if not empty, emptied now of us,
and I believe it will miss us, our words,
our congregations and professions, our brief reunions,

for we have gone home: I will think of you,
Denver, and the tobacco that censed
the corner bus stop, smoke rising
from the butt of a cigarette I saw, still lit,
as our driver paused, checking
before the turn, before driving away.